


and a foreign sky gave witness

by Ladyboo



Series: Stardust and Vulcan Sands [7]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt Jim, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mission Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 10:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15046481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladyboo/pseuds/Ladyboo
Summary: “You wanna know a secret?”There were no secrets between them, nothing that he didn’t know.“Of course, ashayam.”





	and a foreign sky gave witness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bonnie_Bug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonnie_Bug/gifts), [borkybornes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borkybornes/gifts).



> Hey there, this is both unedited and like, a year old at least? I was clearing space and found it, and thought I might as well post it? My writing style has evolved, and there's going to be errors because I don't remember if this is edited or not? But, regardless, its here? So, enjoy, and tell me what you think!

Lavinia, noted as a Class M planet in their pre-mission debriefing and given the illogical moniker after a heated debate with the senior bridge crew in which Jim had been victorious, was rich with flora and fauna uncatalogued, scientifically undiscovered by any Federation vessel. Virtually untouched by law and science, there was an illogicall yet astounding beauty to their surroundings. Such things were to never be admitted, yet, every new planet that they catalogued and landed upon left an inspired, dare he say  _ excited _ feeling in his side where his heart pulsed. 

Such excitement was illogical, and entirely inappropriate for a Vulcan of his standard, station and pedigree, even if he was only half Vulcan, yet he found that he could not deny the sensation all the same. He kept such a thing to himself though, with his hands kept to himself and his fingers curled around a tricorder to take what readings he could pull from the area surrounding them. 

The grasses -if such a name could be given to the fibrous stems that grew from the ground in thin, erect stalks- that swayed around his thighs were obsidian in color, the deepest and darkest of blacks that he had witnessed outside of the vastness of space. To the touch, there was a tacky-sharp grain to them, one that tried to cling to the fingers, and yet they caught nothing against his clothes. 

Above him, the sky was clear and cloudless, a strange event given the high water content in the planet’s atmosphere. The lack of clouds, however, gave no distraction to the gentle mauve of the sky where it stretched overhead, seemingly endless. Such was a pointless, poetic notion, and his father would have scoffed at such a remark. Still, the sun shone bright, a pale, near-white olive tone that held just the faintest glimmer of color should he chose to gaze upon it for too long. 

The trees scattered around them were tall, looming things, with grey, crackled bark and blooming deep blue leaves that swayed in the sweet-scented breeze. There was a hum in the air, vibrating and reverberating, something that he felt all the way down to his bones. Such was a purposeless thought, and yet, he held it all the same, let it wash over him while he resisted the urge to close his eyes at the feeling. 

The tricorder was heavy in his hand, and Spock welcomed the weight of it, for it was grounding.

“Captain.”

Despite the relaxed air of the landing party, there was a tension in Jim’s shoulders. He held himself alert in that lean, predatory way that Spock had witnessed multiple times from his Captain, and yet he could discern no possible reason for such behavior. Their planetary scans had come back clear, with any possible threatening life-forms kilometers away from their party’s location, and even then, their technology had been largely primitive by the Federation’s current standards. 

“Captain.”

He called again, slanted brows furrowing in a miniscule display of displeasure at the way he had been ignored. For Jim never ignored him, and furthermore, Jim seldom ever ignored anyone who had the familiarity to address him by his official title. The second try, however, and his Captain’s head turned, just enough that Spock could see the alluring shade of blue that made the other man’s eyes. His attention had not been fully gained though, for something else had caught it, and Spock took a small step forward.

“There are significant readings of an oxidized hematite based compound in the earth, which would no doubt be beneficial for the science department ensigns to give further examination and possible use for experimentati-“

“Mr Spock, beam the landing party out immediately.”

Brow furrowing further still, Spock stared at his Captain in what he could only classify as confusion. For Jim’s voice was terse, brokering no room for argument of any sort, and the authority with which he spoke was undeniable. Strange, for Jim often lost his tautness with his feet on solid ground of some sort, and would claim it was the fresh air that put a ‘spring in his step’.

“Captain, I am afraid I do not understand.”

“ _ Now _ , Mr Spock.”

The words were barked out in a harsh, demanding tone, and yet, Jim’s voice did not raise. Instead, it was nearly conversational, if not for the tone that Spock recognized from dire situations and hostage negotiations. Its presence caused his hand to press to his communicator, and he took a breath to speak, only to pause at the sight he found staring back at him.

From the grasses, blackened figures crouched, having encroached on the landing party in no doubt slow, measured movements. They had been hunted by the figures that sifted through the grasses with deliberate practice as to not overtly disturb the swaying stalks. Unblinking, white eyes stared back at him from the ridge-nosed face, and the teeth that he saw when the creature opened its mouth were fluorescent, a brilliant turquoise that rivaled even the color of Jim’s gaze. Glistening saliva strung between its teeth, the rows upon rows of sharp, glowing fangs that he could nearly count from how close the creature was. 

The blade within its hand was just as black as its skin, and gleamed faintly in the bright sun. 

Jim moved just as quickly as the creature did, placing himself between Spock and the lunging alien being as it propelled itself from the meadow. With his body between them and his back to Spock’s front, the half Vulcan lost sight of the creature, but he caught the way that Jim started to turn. He watched the widening of Jim’s eyes, and heard the wet, unmistakable sound of flesh being split. Still, his Captain stood still for the briefest of moments, and time seemed to freeze.

There was a roar to the air, booming and all encompassing, and there was no breath within his lungs. That sound, that monstrous, archaic sound, fell from his own lips, birthed from within his chest, and Spock felt the savage cry of his Captain’s name just as he saw the creature then.

Its eyes glittered, and there was a manic, fierce grin on its face that nearly split its cheeks in two, but he gave little care. For it pressed against his Captain’s shoulder, caused Jim’s body to jerk until he nearly faced Spock, and the taller of the two watched in both rage and dismay as the blade sliced through Jim’s skin, his rectus sheath and his internal oblique muscles until it pulled free. The wound across his abdomen was gaping, bleeding a brilliant crimson against the gold of Jim’s command shirt, and Spock watched with a detached kind of fascination as meaty cords of pale pink and ashy grey began to slip out from within the cut. 

Jim made a choking sound, a bubbling, gurgling sound that came with a popping bubble of blood from between his suddenly paling lips. His hands were clenched in the front of Spock’s science blue shirt, and the blood that he breathed splattered and speckled on to the crisp cerulean fabric. And then Jim’s legs seemed to give out, and Spock caught him quickly, one arm wrapping around his Captain’s back to support him while the other smacked at his communicator.

_ “Enterprise _ , beam to Medical!”

He watched as Jim’s eyes rolled back in his head with something sick in his belly and a green haze in his own eyes. 

-

_ “Hey Spock.” _

_ “Jim.” _

_ His attention didn’t shift from the reports that he had been reviewing, and instead, Spock simply gave a tilt of his head to signify that Jim had caught some of his focus in the least. There were reports from the science lab to review however, experimental findings and procedures that needed his signature, things that required his attention. He would have rather given it to Jim, would have rather listened to those soft-spoken words and watched those nimble fingers, but there was work to be done. _

_ For as brave as he was, as boisterous and seemingly arrogant, Jim was surprisingly quiet when he was at his most comfortable. His voice would take a soft, hushed tone to it, and his words would be carefully selected, sentences thought out and nearly slow. Depending on the things Spock said, or the way that he would gaze at his intended, a delicate flush would overtake Jim’s features, and a coy smile would pull at his full, pink lips.  _

_ “You wanna know a secret?” _

_ There were no secrets between them, nothing that he didn’t know.  _

_ Spock knew the feeling of Jim’s skin against his own, and the soft, stuttering moan of his name upon that mouth. He knew the soft curl of Jim’s fingers around his own, and he knew the way that his laughter tasted. He knew his scars, his fear and his pain, and he knew the horrors of his childhood and his aspirations.  _

_ Still, such a phrase was enough to give him pause, and Spock looked up from the PADD that he held to gaze instead at his beloved. Jim had claimed a spot on his bed, with his long legs stretched out across the bunk and his body propped up on one of the two pillows that the mattress claimed. Before him sat an aged, Terran book, with paper pages that had yellowed slightly from age and a hard cover that had worn thin in a few places.  _

_ Jim smiled at him, that same soft stretch of lips that Spock knew intimately, and he found himself smiling back in a minute tick of his own mouth. _

_ “Of course, ashayam.” _

_ He flushed, a pretty, soft rose color to his skin, and he wriggled a little where he lay. The motion rumpled the sheets beneath him, and nearly turned the page in his book before he caught it. His touch was loving though, his caress gentle as if he were touching Spock rather than a book, and the half Vulcan watched the motion with a critical eye.  _

_ “I have a favorite poem.” _

_ “Indeed.” _

_ “Mhm. I’ll read it to you sometime, but it isn’t very warm and fuzzy. It’s…it’s real.” _

_ - _

Sickbay was quiet in the post-haze lull of a mission gone wrong. 

Leonard had given them space once Spock had been allowed to enter the room, once his rage could be controlled and his Vulcan calm had centered him once more. He had been allowed to enter, under the shrewd eye of his friend, and he had been told that his Jim would be fine, that he simply needed rest. 

Rest meant sleep, meant one had taken ill or one had succumbed to exhaustion and needed to not be disturbed. Jim did not need rest, Jim needed attention, he needed medical care and affection, just as his injuries called upon the simplest, swiftest form of retribution and bloodshed in honor of his name. Such things were archaic though, beneath him, but  _ oh _ , how Spock burned for them all the same.

As it was, he sat beside the bed in a chair that was highly uncomfortable, despite the lack of necessity that would be his own comfort. Such things were trivial, and they mattered little, for the only thing of any real consequence was the figure that lay in the biobed before him. Such stillness was unnatural on a man who moved even in his sleep, and there was an uneasy feeling in his gut that Spock couldn’t seem to tamper down. 

The antique book within his lap was well-loved, worn around the edges and threadbare in a few places where he could see the hard spine beneath the fabric overlay. The pages were faintly yellowed, had lost their crisp texture, and the sweet, musky smell of aged binding glue wafted from the crease between the leaves. There were emotions in this book, left over and thrumming faintly against his skin, and Spock ran a gentle, loving finger over the edge of the spine before carefully cracking the book open. 

It fell open to the last page that Jim had been on, with a ribbon marking the spot where he had intended to resume reading. Easing the slim piece of fabric aside until it was nestled in the crease of the book, Spock took a breath, glancing up at his beloved.

But Jim had not moved, his body had not shifted and his beautiful eyes had not opened. The readings of the biobed remained steady, pulsing quietly with the rhythm of Jim’s beating heart, and he resisted the urge to shake his head, to sigh. Instead, Spock blinked slowly, stared for a moment longer before dropping his gaze down to the book.

The page presented was more worn than the others, with dog-eared corners and a slight rumple to the paper where it had been closed too hastily. This, surely, was Jim’s favorite, for it held the whispers of his beloved’s affection in the fibers of its being. 

“O Captain! my Captain! Our fearful trip is done, the ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won.”

It felt strange, to speak such words with his own inflection, soft and nearly monotone. His brow furrowed, and his lips pursed faintly, and Spock took a slow breath before trying again. 

“The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, while follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;”

He didn’t understand the point in talking to someone who had lost consciousness. There was no relevance in giving words to one who could not hear him, and yet, Leonard had given him a soft, dare he say understanding, look when he had stood at a loss in the bustle of sickbay.  A hand had clasped on his shoulder, and Leonard had quietly suggested that he go get a book, that Jim would appreciate it if he read to him.

“But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red,” 

There was a sorrowful, underlying meaning to these words that he couldn’t fully grasp, something that he couldn’t completely recognize. There was something that he didn’t appreciate, something that he didn’t understand nor want, and the furrow of his brow turned sharper. Yet he read on, for it was Jim’s favorite, and a small part of him whispered that Jim deserved nice things, as redundant as that notion was. 

“Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and-” 

His eyes narrowed, and his vision blurred faintly. Spock stared down at the stanza with growing contempt in his belly, for how dare it? How could such a thing that held Jim’s favor so be so slanderous, so demeaning and casual in its disregard for the life of his  _ T’hy’la _ ? 

“-Dead.”

Rage festered in his belly, soared through his blood and sent an emerald haze across his skin, his gaze. Just as quickly as it had come though, that burning feeling dropped in his belly, became something else entirely. A splotch appeared on the page, followed by another, and another. Hesitating, Spock reached up, pressed his fingertips to the soft flesh beneath his eye, and frowned when they came away wet. 

His gaze fell to Jim once more, his Jim where he lay quiet and still, and his breath was a punched sound, something that took him by surprise. Eyes widening, Spock could only stare at his lover for a long moment, side aching and his heart thundering. His fingers were trembling, and he reached out, slotting his fingers with Jim’s. Just the same, he closed the book, let it fall to the floor.

Rising from his chair, it clattered against the ground from the force with which he moved, and Spock hunched over the biobed. One hand pressed to Jim’s side, the other still tangled with his sleep-warm fingers, the half Vulcan took a shuddering breath. Staring, quiet and panting, he leaned forward, pressed his mouth to Jim’s brow. 

“ _ My Captain shall not die. _ ”


End file.
